I think I forgot to tell y’all about my new dog. I adopted her in November of 2013.
Her name is Abby. It was Missy when I adopted her at a Petco adoption fair. She was two, and a terrier mix (at a guess). Story is that she and a number of other dogs belonged to an old lady who couldn’t take care of them, or herself, anymore. The dogs passed to the old lady’s son, who mistreated them and finally turned them over to KARES, a local dog rescue group. She has been fostered since then. She’s about 25 pounds and brindled all over.
She’s tremendously shy, and for the first 24+ hours refused to eat or drink, but that apparently has passed. She leaves the cats alone (I think they scare her). She’s great at heeling when we take walks, but today I stumbled over some rocks rather noisily, and she almost bolted (thank God for the leash) – tail between her legs, ears pinned back, a look of absolute terror. It took me a few minutes to coax her back to me and let me pet her and tell her what a good dog she was — then she firmly led me back home, up the stairs, through the slider, and to the bed, which has become her safe place. I’d really like to get my hands on that “son” and a pile of rocks long enough for him to learn what it feels like to be on the receiving end of terror.
But despite all that we are making progress. I give her lots of love and praise, and she is slowly but steadily relaxing. She’s a young dog, and it’s early days yet.
In the time since then, she has gradually shed her paralyzing shyness — now she’s just shy — and has been a great companion and friend through the cancer treatments and life in general. I’m very happy to have her.